


You Are The Only One I See

by BRNZ



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Boundaries, Communication Failure, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Jealous John, M/M, Married Couple, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26458948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRNZ/pseuds/BRNZ
Summary: Established relationship - Sherlock learns to negotiate boundaries and John learns the value of communication(There was no Mary or Rosie in my version of the universe)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	You Are The Only One I See

**Author's Note:**

> This scene has been playing in my head for a while after I researched ways to take down someone taller than you...
> 
> I'm doing this as a oneshot, but if you REALLY want me to write the followup smut scene - let me know in comments!
> 
> [Feel free to yell at me on Tumblr](https://br-nz.tumblr.com/)

John stomped up the steps to the flat, shoulders set in the ‘angry’ position. Other than discussing their dinner choices, he hadn’t spoken beyond the basic social niceties. In fact, he had barely spoken in the last three days. Not since their dinner at his favourite french bistro. He hadn’t gone quite so far as to sleep on the sofa or his old bed, instead lying facing away from his husband.

Sherlock wasn’t quite sure exactly what he had done to cause this level of offense. Normally John would stew over a slight until he couldn’t hold back and they would yell at each other until they calmed down enough to talk. Dysfunctional many would say, but it worked for them.

It wasn’t often that John let his anger simmer just under the nice guy facade, the way he was now. That hint of violence in his soul that he normally kept tamped down was obvious in the frown lines on his forehead, jaw flexing with all the words he didn’t say. 

Having tried all his usual ploys with no luck, Sherlock had instead reverted to the one thing that was guaranteed to trigger  **some** reaction. He had very carefully niggled away at John’s composure, pushing his buttons with dismissive sarcasm, subtly provoking him in public where John couldn’t easily respond without revealing himself.

Except now it felt like he had drawn a pistol from its holster and was about to play russian roulette, not knowing if it was loaded. Sherlock was abruptly aware of John’s physicality, knowing he still worked out at the gym and dojo. His Dr was a study in contrasts - a healer trained to kill - and very good at both skillsets.

As they unpacked takeaways in a strained silence, Sherlock began to wonder if he hadn’t overplayed his hand a little. He pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, poured two glasses and swung around to put them on the table. But as he went to put John’s down, his husband reached forward for the rice and the bottom of the glass caught his arm, tipping forward in a pale golden puddle that ran over the edge, onto the floor. Including a generous splash that had managed to end up on John’s plate, leaving his curry in a watery pool of wine infused sauce. 

_ Oh no…...they had already had a long day, and missed lunch...this was not going to go well… _

“Take mine, sorry, careless of me,” putting the other glass down, reaching for a dishcloth to clean up the mess, Sherlock heard only the scrape of the chair legs pushing back sharply. That was all the warning he got, a hand on his shoulder and a shove to the opposite hip breaking his balance, Johns left arm snaking round his throat in a choke hold and his voice growling “DOWN.”

Pushed forward, Sherlock scrambled to get his knees underneath him, adrenaline flooding his system, his vision narrowing to right in front of him, everything too bright, his gasping breaths loud in the silence.

“John, please! I’m sorry, whatever it is, God I’m sorry..just...talk to me...nrrggh”

As that arm closed around his throat, closing off his carotid with enough pressure to make him dizzy, he flailed with his arm behind him, making contact with John’s thigh, tapping hard three times before slumping forward. Released, he fell forward, sucking in deep breaths.

Shocked and shaky, John would never deliberately  **hurt** him, not like this...Sherlock stayed down, as instructed, head hanging, waiting uneasily for what might happen. 

**John’s safety was off…**

_ Jesus Christ it turned him on, being pushed to the edge like that, mastered so easily. What would it take, to provoke him to do it again…? _

Above him John hissed a sigh of annoyance and frustration “Christ Sherlock…” There was the sound of food being scraped off a plate, more being piled on then John’s shoes stopped in front of him, a rough caress in his hair “Just this once you can clean up your own bloody mess, yeah?”

“Of course,” whispered Sherlock.  _ He needed space to allow his wayward cock time to settle down. _

“Good boy, I’ll be on the sofa when you are done.” Another rough caress of his nape, and John walked away, settling himself with dinner, wine and the TV remote. 

Aware his dinner was cooling off on the table, Sherlock quickly wiped up the spilled wine, poured himself another glass and cautiously joined John on the sofa. He was watching one of those talent reality shows which Sherlock despised, usually muttering rude comments and taking the piss out of the judges. 

A typical night would have him with his feet in John’s lap or tucked under his thighs, tapping away on his laptop, providing a running commentary of snark in the hope of making John laugh. Instead they ate in silence until John got up, bought the wine bottle back and topped off both their glasses.

“Was there a special reason you were a total prat all day?” John swirled the wine before glancing up at Sherlock, “Not that you need one, but seemed like you were trying extra hard.” There was a tightness in his voice, he still wasn’t happy but at least they were talking.

Noticing he was twisting his wedding ring round, his only nervous tell, Sherlock frowned down at his traitorous hands. “You’ve been upset with me since dinner at Savoir, but you won’t talk about it.” He shrugged “Spilling the wine was a genuine accident, and I am sorry about that.” He paused “Yes, I was pushing your buttons, but it didn’t feel like you left me any choice.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, whispering out his next words “Don’t go cold on me John...please...it scares me…” 

“More than a choke hold?”

Sherlock nodded “You were angry, and I just ruined your dinner and you had no idea what stupid thing I was going to do next. So you took control of the situation, as safely as you could….I trust you John, I know you would never hurt me.”

_ Oh god, please...hurt me just a little bit, just enough... _

“It was good...that you tapped out. I was pretty close to the edge for a moment.” John turned and opened his arms “Come here love, let's try to be normal grownups for a bit.”

With a snort of amusement, Sherlock leaned in for a cuddle, before resting his head in John’s lap, purring under the fingers stroking through his wayward curls.

“God I swear you are part cat, all feline elegance, demanding to be petted when it suits you.” He gave a gentle sharp tug with one handful of hair that made Sherlock hum in appreciation “Do you forget, that you are  **my** gorgeous husband? That  **I’m** the one who knows how to take care of you?”

Sherlock opened eyes that had been closed in bliss while he enjoyed the hair stroking, assessing John’s words.   
  
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you are jealous, but….we’ve been on a case every day this week.”

“Were we on a case when we were at Savoir?” John asked slowly, fingers stilling.

“Of course not, that was Date Night, guaranteed 100% case free.” They had agreed, after one too many interrupted evenings, that Date Night was sacred.  _ Unless there was an active serial killer involved, of course!  _

“Then why did you spend so much time flirting with the extremely pretty barman then?”

_ Confused, Sherlock flicked back through his memories, young, dark haired and dark eyed, designer stubble and a shirt nearly as tight as his own….but….oh…! _

Watching his face as Sherlock remembered, John pulled a torn off bit of paper out of his pocket, with the name Raoul and a phone number scribbled in messy loopy handwriting.

“You left this in your jacket pocket…” His tone verged on the edge of accusatory.

“Do you want to check my phone?” Sherlock nodded “It’s over there, you know the passcode.”

John frowned down at his husband “You could have half a dozen burner phones tucked away that I don’t know about.”

He did, but that wasn't the point “Yes I may have flirted a little, but he had something I wanted.”

As those stormcloud eyes darkened, Sherlock rummaged in his pocket for his razor thin wallet, handing it to John unopened. “Open it, you’ll find the other half of that page folded up. Read it.”

Sherlock sat up as John slowly did as instructed, unfolding a sheet of branded notepaper from the restaurant that had….a cocktail recipe on it in that messy looping handwriting.

“He made that for you last time we were there, and you really liked it. He freeformed it, and I wanted the recipe. Wanted to surprise you, so...I asked him….nicely…”

“Sherlock...I…”

“Turn it over, John, read what's on the back.”

In very familiar spiky angular handwriting it said “ **_Very_ ** **_happily_ ** **_married thanks, to a man who could kill you with his eyebrows.”_ **

All the fight went out of John with a sigh “Oh love, looks like I owe you an apology too.”

Leaning in for a kiss, Sherlock murmured “I can think of several ways you could make it up to me.”

“Mmmm me too.” John’s hands roved over his shirt, tackling buttons with enthusiasm. Sherlock slid properly into his lap, capturing John’s wrists in a light grip.

“I need to ask you something first. Do you trust me?” Sherlock was still getting used to the concept of respecting boundaries, so he wanted this perfectly clear.

“Ouch.”

“I don’t mind if you get a little possessive, but don’t I deserve the benefit of the doubt? I  **am** your husband, after all.”

Scrunching up his face into his ‘I really don’t want to talk about this’ expression, John closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa cushions. Sherlock let his wrists go, giving John the grace to process whatever was going on.

“I saw you with him, young, gorgeous and all I could think was you are MINE...it was completely irrational, but I couldn’t stop myself from feeling angry and jealous and god….such an arse.”

“I’m personally quite fond of that arse.” Sherlock leaned in again and they lost several minutes, kissing and apologising. “John, I love you. There is no one else for me, only you.”

“I’m the only one who would put up with your crazy life.” John huffed but he was joking. “I love you too and yes, I trust you.”

“John, you killed a man for me, and I died for you. What more do we have to do?” Sherlock was half serious, half curious.

“Call me over to snog you senseless when some guy wants to give you his number?” John waggled his eyebrows “I’ll make sure they get a good show.”

Sherlock rested his forehead against his husbands, “Deal, how about we start now?” 

“Oh god yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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